ABSTRACT
‘Valentina’, a pretty, dark-haired Italian living in Canada, came to see me for analysis some years ago to help her with relationships that always seemed to end badly. As a graduate student with her 30th birthday fast approaching, she wanted to finally get to the bottom of her problems. After a number of hours of work together we fell into a routine in which she would read from her journal, and we would then discuss her thoughts and feelings in a superficial conversation as if over a cup of coffee. This was all she would tolerate but one day this routine changed. ‘Valentina’ entered and sat as usual and began to read from her journal. As she spoke, I began this time to have idle fantasies about her. “She has such lovely hair”, I thought. “Why doesn't she do more with it?” and “Her cheeks look so pale. She needs more color”. Just after I had these thoughts however, she read from her journal: “I saw my mother this weekend; she said my hair looked too plain and that I should wear more blush”.
